Ahead of him lay the creek, and beyond that the McCown headquarters. Face rigid, his jaw set square, Dundee rode toward the spring where Uncle Ollie McCown sat watching him. Ollie had his fishing pole, the hook sunk into the water below the spring.
“Howdy, Dundee,” he called. “You-all do up your business in Runaway?”
Dundee stared hard at the old man, wondering how much he knew. “Ollie, I’m looking for Warren.”
The tone of his voice betrayed him, for Ollie shrank back. Dundee could see realization sinking in. “Ollie, I asked you, where’s Warren at?”
Ollie’s voice was strained. “Big bunch of men rode by here some hours ago, on their way to help you-all. I reckon you took good care of old Roan and his bunch by now, didn’t you?”
Now Dundee was convinced: Ollie knew. He might not have participated, but he knew.
“Ollie, I know the whole thing now. I’ll ask you one more time, where’s Warren?”
Ollie looked down at the water. “Dundee, Millie’s up at the house. I bet she’ll be real tickled to see you back. She baked up some cookies. They’d sure go good with a cup of coffee. I bet you and her could find a right smart to talk about.” He paused, trying to gather strength. “She thinks the world of you, Dundee. If you was to ask her, she’d marry you in a minute. You could do a lot worse. She’s a good girl.”
“Ollie, does she know anything about this?”
Quickly the old man blurted: “She don’t know nothing, Dundee. Warren didn’t tell her nothing, and he’d of beat me to death if I’d ever even hinted to her. . . .” He realized he had said too much. He looked down at the fishing line again. Cold sweat broke on his forehead.
Dundee said, “Ollie, I still want to know . . .”
The old man wiped his sleeve over his face. “Sure is hot.” His voice was almost gone. He was on the verge of crying. “Seems like it gets hotter every year. Things ain’t what they used to be. Things has gone to hell, seems like. Time was when the world was fresh and sweet as dew. Now everything’s got a bitter taste, and there’s no pleasure left in being alive. It’s hell to be an old man, Dundee.”
Pitying him, Dundee turned away.
He rode to the house. Millie came out into the doorway, trying to brush back her long hair with her hand. She smiled, and her face was so pretty Dundee could feel his heart tearing in two. The joy that danced in her eyes brought the bite of tears to his own.
“Dundee, is it all over with? Are you all right?”
He clenched his teeth and tried not to look at her. He couldn’t help it; he had to look, and he felt his throat tighten. “Millie, I’ve got to see Warren. Is he here?”
She caught the gravity in his eyes now, and in his voice. Her joy faded, and worry rushed in. “He’s up yonder working on his rock corrals. What’s the matter, Dundee?”
He looked toward the rock pens that were the symbol of a man’s driving ambition, of a poverty-born obsession for acquiring land and cattle, for building a protective wall of stolen wealth around him so that never again could he slide back into the squalor that had scarred his soul.
Millie demanded: “There’s something wrong, Dundee. What is it?”
“I’ll have to let Warren tell you.”
He pulled away from her and rode toward the pens. He didn’t dare look back, but he knew she was standing there watching him, confusion and fear crowding in around her. Though she did not know it yet, her world was about to come tumbling down; her anchor of security was about to be dragged away.
Warren McCown stood behind a half-finished rock fence, sweat soaking his dirt-crusted shirt, rolling down his sun-browned face. Dundee guessed that by his own appearance and manner he was betraying himself, for he could see suspicion in Warren McCown.
“What’s the trouble, Dundee?”
“Maybe you ought to tell me, Warren. Maybe you ought to tell me what really happened to Son Titus.”
Warren tensed. They stared at each other a long time in silence. “You know as much as I do, Dundee.”
“Maybe. I think I’ve figured out some things now. For one thing, I know why you used to have trouble with Roan Hardesty and his men. It wasn’t for the reason you said, that they was driving stolen cattle across your land. It was because you was in competition with them. Old Roan wanted to run things in this country, but you was stealing for yourself and wouldn’t split anything with him.
“That time you went south to buy cattle . . . you went north first. You stole T Bar cattle from old Titus, drove them south and traded them for cattle that had been stole down on the border. That way you didn’t have any T Bar stuff on your country.”
“You got an awful imagination, Dundee.”
“Not very. That cowboy that helped you . . . first thing he done when he left here was to head for Runaway to fill his belly full of liquor and wrap himself around a soft, warm town girl. He told her things he ought to’ve kept to himself. Then Son Titus came along, and he found that girl. He got her drunk enough that she told him things she ought to’ve kept quiet. Last time he left Runaway he was coming out here to brace you with the facts. Somewhere out yonder you ran into each other, and you killed him.”
Warren McCown rubbed his sweaty hands on the legs of his britches. “What you figure on doing, Dundee?”
“I figure on taking you to the Rangers. If old John Titus gets hold of you, he’ll hang you.”
Warren’s face twisted in bitterness. “Titus. It’s always been a Titus. I told you my daddy died on a ranch, didn’t I, Dundee? But I didn’t tell you which one. It was the Titus ranch. Daddy had dragged us there just the week before, the way he dragged us everywhere, hungry and broke and wearing castoff clothes that nobody else wanted. Old man John Titus was so big he didn’t know the names of half his men. I doubt he ever even seen my daddy. Son Titus was just a button then but spoiled rotten as a barrelful of bad apples. He was playing around the herd instead of tending to his job, and he let a big steer get out. Daddy spurred off after him, and his horse fell. Daddy never knew what hit him. They buried him right there on the Titus ranch, gave us kids a couple of months’ wages and told us how bad they felt. Well, John Titus has owed us something for that, something a lot more than a little handful of money.”
“He didn’t owe you his boy’s life.”
“I didn’t want to kill him. He forced it on me. Said he’d take away everything we had and burn our place to the ground. I’d put in too many years of sweat. I couldn’t let him wreck us.”
“I got to take you in, Warren. Maybe a jury will see your side and go easy.”
“And what happens to Millie? What happens to this place? No, Dundee. You’re not taking me anywhere.”
Dundee reached for his pistol. Warren moved suddenly, crouching behind the rock fence and coming up with a rifle.
Dundee shouted: “Don’t be a fool, Warren. Kill me and there’ll be others. There’ll be no end to it.”
But he saw the intention in Warren’s eyes as the rifle came up into line. Dundee threw himself off the bay as the first shot exploded. He went down on his hands and knees. For a couple of seconds he was shielded by the frightened horse. He used that time to get moving toward another section of rock fence. He vaulted over and dropped behind it as the rifle cracked again.
At the house he heard Millie screaming. He glanced in that direction and saw Uncle Ollie hobbling up as fast as he could from the spring. Millie ran toward the corral, crying: “Warren! Dundee!”
Dundee raised up enough to see over the fence. He leveled the pistol where he thought Warren would come up. He saw the top of Warren’s head, then the rifle. Warren arose, drawing a bead. This time, Dundee knew with a sickening certainty, Warren wasn’t going to miss. Not if Dundee let him fire.
Dundee squeezed the trigger. He saw Warren lurch back, heard the rifle clatter against the stone. He jumped up and ran around the fence. Under his breath he was praying.
He stopped abruptly, his blood cold. He turned then, Millie came running, crying. “Warren! What did you do to Warren?”
Dundee grabbed her. “Millie, don’t go back there!”
She beat at him with her fists. Hysterically she screamed: “Let me go! Let me go!” She twisted away from him and ran on. At the fence she stopped, her voice lifting in agony.
The bay had tangled in the reins a little way down toward the house. Walking in that direction, Dundee met the struggling Ollie McCown. The old man looked at him, his eyes begging. “God, Dundee, how am I going to tell her?”
Dundee shook his head, his eyes afire so that he could barely see. “I don’t know, Ollie. I don’t know if you ever can.”
The ride to town was one of the longest Dundee had ever made, seemed like. It was full dark long before he got there. He found the cowboys scattered in the buildings up and down the long, crooked street. The Rangers had arrived to take charge and collect any prisoners on whom they had claims. Katy Long was back in her saloon, serving liquor to John Titus.
The old man looked up as Dundee walked through the door into the lamplight. His eyes seemed to have softened now. Maybe it was Katy’s whisky.
“Dundee, where’s McCown?”
Tightly Dundee said, “He’s dead.”
The old man nodded gravely. “This girl here, she told me the whole thing, once you was a long ways down the road. I reckon it was tough on you.”
“Life’s always been tough on me.”
John Titus pushed the bottle at Dundee. Dundee took it, though he absently rolled it in his hands instead of drinking from it. “Where’s Tobe Crane?”
Somebody went out and fetched the cowboy. Dundee looked up painfully. “Tobe, Warren McCown is dead. I killed him.” He took a long drink then, and followed it with another. “Millie’s the one who’ll suffer the most. She needs somebody right now. I think she needs you.”
The cowboy just stood and stared at him.
Impatiently Dundee demanded: “You love her, don’t you? You as much as told me so.”
“I love her, Dundee.”
“Then go to her. She’ll never need you more than she needs you now.”
Tobe turned to go. Dundee said: “And Tobe . . . you be real good to that girl, you hear me?”
“I will.”
Dundee turned back to the bottle. He didn’t quit drinking till his head was starting to spin. It occurred to him suddenly that he hadn’t seen Roan Hardesty. He half-shouted: “Where’s Roan? John Titus, you promised me. . . .”
Titus shook his head. “Don’t worry. Roan has took to the tulies.” He pointed his stubbled chin toward Katy Long “After this girl here told me what she did, I got to thinking. When the Rangers got here, they’d take old Roan and lock him up, and he’d never see sunlight again the rest of his days. He’s an old man, Roan is. He ain’t got many years left.”
“You mean you just let him go?”
“We was friends once. He remembered it. He couldn’t bring himself to shoot me. After I found out the truth of what happened to Son, I couldn’t bring myself to see him rot away in a cell the few years he’s got left. So I told him to head south for Mexico.”
“He’s liable to take some of your cattle with him as he goes.”
Titus looked surprised, as if that thought hadn’t occurred to him. Then he shrugged. “You can’t expect an old man to go hungry.”
Next morning the Rangers had picked out the men they intended to take to jail. The rest of the prisoners were turned loose and advised to see how far they could get without stopping to rest their horses.
Titus’ foreman, Strother James, looked down the emptying street. “It’ll be a funny-looking town, nobody living in it.”
Titus said: “It won’t be no town atall. We’re going to burn it.”
“All of it?”
“Every stick. Get the men started at the job.”
They began at the far end, setting the buildings afire one at a time. Some had rock walls that wouldn’t burn, but the roofs would go, and the floors if they had any.
Dundee said: “Mister Titus, I got money coming. I’d like to collect it now and be on my way.”
Disappointed, Titus said: “We need you here, Dundee. I was hoping you’d stay.”
Dundee shook his head. “I studied on it awhile, but I’m afraid this part of the country is spoiled for me now. It’s best I go on.”
“West someplace. Don’t make much difference.”
“I ain’t got much cash with me. I’ll give you all I got and send the rest on to a bank where you can pick it up. How about Pecos City?”
Dundee shrugged. “Pecos City would be all right. I expect it’s a good place to get drunk.”
Katy Long had her team hitched to the buckboard and was carrying out what belongings she could pack into it. A couple of cowboys were helping her load a trunk. Dundee looked down the street where the plumes of smoke were rising. They’d be to the Llano River Saloon in a few minutes now, sprinkling kerosene, striking matches.
Dundee said, “Too bad about your place here.”
She didn’t appear upset. “It’s worn itself out anyhow. There are other places down the road, fresh places.”
“Got any particular one in mind?”
“Nope. Thought I might ride along with you if it’s all right. A woman alone . . . no telling what might happen.”
He shook his head. “You can take care of yourself; I don’t worry none about that. As for me, I got some problems to think out. It’s better I ride by myself. Adios, Katy. Maybe I’ll see you someplace.”
He swung up onto his horse, nodded at John Titus and took the trail that led around the bluff and west from Runaway.
John Titus disconsolately watched him go. “Dundee’s a good man. I hate to lose him.”
Katy said, “I don’t intend to lose him.”
“I’m sending him some money. He’s supposed to pick it up in Pecos City,” Titus suggested. He looked at the girl, and his eyes came as near smiling as they had in a long time. “Whichaway you headed?”
She arched her wrist as invitation for one of the cowboys to help her into the buckboard. Half a dozen rushed to do it. Seated, she smiled back at the old ranchman.
“I’ve been thinking I’d try Pecos City.”
She flipped the lines, and the team took her west, while the dark smoke that had been Runaway rose into the blue summer skies and slowly dissipated over the rocky Llano River hills.